


Doing Things the Human Way

by AmalieCalana



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23543971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmalieCalana/pseuds/AmalieCalana
Summary: "Okay," he breathed. "So, magic's all good. No worries there. But something's preventing me from healing you right now."Aziraphale's eyes widened. "But, magic is magic," he argued. "If you can't heal me, then..."Crowley pressed a hand to his eyes. "Well, you said you wanted to do more things the human way..."*****So, this little bit of post-armageddon nonsense is essentially my attempts to journal my way through my life's current trauma. It does and will contain depictions of characters fighting off illness (although COVID-19 itself was less my inspiration than other good old-fashioned auto-immune diseases). For me, reading and writing this sort of fic is actually therapeutic, but for others it may be triggering.  Please do what you need to do to keep yourself safe.Also, who knows if I'll ever finish this. It started on a whim, and while I regularly write/journal in the morning I don't know when/if/how far I'll take this. It is definitely a WIP. Be aware.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 9





	Doing Things the Human Way

Crowley, by nature, appreciated warmth. His inner reptile thrived on lounging on hot beaches and snuggling under dense blankets. Winter was hell, but the return of August's sweltering heat was a welcome one. He was almost regretting his return to the bookshop, as no doubt by now Aziraphale was blasting the air conditioning, which made its walls a haven for angels and humans alike seeking respite from the oppressive heat outside.1

Imagine Crowley's surprise when at midday he stepped through the locked doors2 and entered a furnace that far outpaced the one on the London streets. In fact, he gently tasted the air, and yes, that was the familiar smell of burning dust from the summer-neglected furnace. 

"Angel?" he called through the bookshop, but without response. Crowley's hackles rose abruptly when he heard a weak cry from the direction of the flat above the bookshop. Crowley didn't need a miracle to instantaneously arrive in front of the flat's bedroom door. 

"Angel?" he called again as he cautiously opened the door and peeked his head inside. "I thought we were heading out on that picnic, today," he said as his eyes adjusted rapidly to the unfamiliar darkness of the room.3 The angel didn't own blackout curtains (much to Crowley's dismay), yet the room was so dark even Crowley's vision could barely pick up the angel-shaped lump drowning in the frumpy bed clothes. 

"Crowley," a reedy voice emerged from the lump. It turned slowly and laboriously toward the sound of the visitor, and as Crowley's eyes adjusted, he had to withhold a gasp as Aziraphale's eyes landed on his, the pops of unearthly blue rimmed by red. 

Crowley reached his hands toward the angel's face and gently cupped his cheek. His self-control was certainly getting a workout today, as he didn't flinch at all as he felt the extreme heat emanating from the angel's skin. Aziraphale always ran warm (Crowley had been delighted to discover), but this was unearthly, even for the angel. 

"Aziraphale, what's wrong?" he whispered, even as his stomach plunged into his snakeskin boots and settled there for an extended holiday. 

"Not sure," Aziraphale whispered, his voice cracked and hoarse, but also irritatingly calm. "I woke up this morning4 and felt a bit off. Head hurt something extraordinary, so I darkened the room. The rest of my corporation just feels--tired? Yes, tired. And it's so _fucking_ cold right now."5

Crowley's eyes widened as he pushed his sunglasses up and onto his head. "Cold? Angel, it's warmer in here than it is outside, and it's the middle of bloody August." He reached over and laid a hand on the angel's forehead again. His brow was even warmer than the rest of him. "Why didn't you miracle it away?" 

Aziraphale shook his head. "Tried that. No luck. Can't snap off so much as a cup of tea." He then pressed his eyebrows together into that beseeching puppy dog look that he wore so well. Innocent Crowley's arse. 

"Of course," Crowley whispered. Just another healing miracle, right? He'd done tons of those in the old days via The Arrangement. It had gotten more and more unnecessary as humans harnessed the power of antibiotics--clever buggers they all were--but it still had come up a time or two over the last hundred years or so. You never really forgot did you? 

Crowley concentrated, and snapped his fingers, and--nothing. There was no pull of magic in his core, no drawing of its flow from Hell, and for a moment Crowley began to truly panic. He snapped again, and the cool glass of water he summoned popped into existence on the bedside table. Another snap and a cup of coffee appeared next to it. 

"Okay," he breathed. "So, magic's all good. No worries there. But something's preventing me from healing you right now." 

Aziraphale's eyes widened. "But, magic is magic," he argued. "If you can't heal me, then..." 

Crowley pressed a hand to his eyes. "Well, you said you wanted to do more things the human way..."

**Author's Note:**

> 1Aziraphale, of course, had never had any such intent as to sell more books. He had simply seen a young woman with her daughter, both red-skinned and drenched in sweat, sleeping outside his window one night. He thought, if Heaven wasn't doing what they should to take care of him, the least he could do would be to provide a cool place for them to stay during the hottest part of the day. Mind you, that didn't mean he would more rigorously schedule his working hours. He had standards, and was always going to be just a bit of a bastard.[Return to text.]
> 
> 2Told you.[Return to text.]
> 
> 3Crowley had of course become quite familiar with the room in the dark, of course. Armageddon had been a year ago and why shouldn't he have? It's none of your business.[Return to text.]
> 
> 4Aziraphale still rarely slept, but he was much more amenable to the idea when a certain snake demon curled under the blankets with him. He might be too anxious to sleep most nights, but he was bloody well a hedonist and could enjoy a good lounge--with the right company.[Return to text.]
> 
> 5Aziraphale still generally refrained from cursing, but had grown quite fond of the word "fuck." Especially in the weeks and months after Armageddon. For obvious reasons.


End file.
